


Run Away With Me

by RAINMAK3R



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Happy Ending, M/M, Slow Burn, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, both of their ages are skewed but it’s whatever, brief angst, lots of swearing, this isn’t as lighthearted as I wanted it to be but I’m very pleased with the results, weasel is an asshole, you see what they draw on their skin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-06-08 09:22:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6848761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RAINMAK3R/pseuds/RAINMAK3R
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anything you draw winds up on your soulmate’s skin. Peter’s been drawing for years and has never gotten anything back in response. Wade doesn’t believe that anyone could possibly want to love him. Deadpool and Spiderman team up and are full of snark and dick jokes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Run Away With Me

Wade has had the drawings appearing on his skin for the better part of his life. They started when he was twelve, with a smiley face on his right hand in permanent marker, and his theory is that it was indeed permanent marker, or his soulmate is someone who does not like being clean. He wouldn’t blame them for that.

 

* * *

 

Peter’s kindergarten goes on a trip to the zoo, and to make sure that all kids are accounted for, smiley faces are drawn on their hands. It’s an unspoken rule that if you draw on your skin, it’ll appear on your soulmate’s as well.

 

He’s too young to understand the concept, but that doesn’t stop him from picking up pens and markers and casually doodling pictures, even if they’re no good.

 

He hopes that whoever is out there draws something on his skin soon.

 

* * *

 

They are small reminders that there is someone out there for him, and he often takes solace in that in times of distress.

 

When he was being tortured for the better part of a year in the Weapon X facilities, seeing the designs wind their way across his arms and legs kept him going. Even if it was just a random streak of pen across the side of his pinky, showing that his soulmate had been writing for a while, it gave Wade the strength to survive.

 

After his body and most of his mind has been warped and twisted into something unrecognizable, Wade starts to hate the drawings.

 

He never wants his soulmate to have to deal with him. All of his issues are such strains, his whole existence is burdensome and no one should have to deal with that.

 

Those thoughts consume him and he doesn’t leave his apartment for two weeks.

 

* * *

 

He hasn’t gotten any drawings on his skin. It’s not to say _he_ hasn’t been drawing on his skin, but whoever his soulmate is hasn’t bothered to draw on it and let him know they’re there. Peter’s skin has been as blank a canvas for fourteen years since he figured out what goes on your skin also goes on your soulmate’s.

 

He sits on the couch in his apartment, head in his hands, and wonders if it’s even worth it to continue drawing on his skin.

 

* * *

 

It takes a year filled with booze and urging by Weasel and encouragements disguised as insults from Al to form an uneasy peace with the drawings that infrequently mark his skin.

 

* * *

 

Spiderman _actually_ crawls into Wade’s life at one of his lowest points. Wade’s been taking on more jobs, not because he needs the money, but because he feels so empty inside that anything is better than the nothing in his heart.

 

Wade’s in costume, throwing some douchebag against the wall of an abandoned building, pulling his gun out of it’s holster, about to pull the trigger when it’s yanked out of his hand by, _what was that, webbing?_ And he’s turning to see some costumed guy almost casually hanging on a web, Wade’s gun in hand. Wade figures the appropriate response is:

 

“Who the fuck are you?”

 

“Spiderman. You shouldn’t be killing people.” Spiderman points this out as though it’s the most natural conversation starter.

 

“First off, I’m calling you out on technicality, because I haven’t killed this son of a bitch yet, and secondly, hop off my dick, baby boy. I mind my own business and you should mind yours.”

 

“Uh huh.” Spiderman grunts, ignoring the nickname. “Not gonna happen.”

 

“Tough shit. This is my job, this is _a job_ , and I really don’t need some teenager telling me off, trying to run my life.”

 

How it’s even possible from that position, Spiderman shrugs.

 

“You’re not denying you’re a teenager. God, I hope you’re not jailbait.”

 

“Nineteen, but you’re not supposed to really know that.”

 

“I wouldn’t think it matters. I’m Deadpool.”

 

“Cool name. You shouldn’t kill people.” In response to that, simply _just ‘cause_ , Wade pulls out a second gun and shoots the douchebag in the face, blood splattering against the wall where he had laid unconscious.

 

“Eh. Maybe sometime later I’ll ponder the possibility of a career change.”

 

“At least someone’s challenging your mindset.” _Is this kid fucking serious?_ “So, you wanna grab some food?”

 

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. I just blew a guy’s brains out and you’re inviting me to, what time is it?” Wade pulls his glove up and checks his watch. “Go have a midnight snack with you? Don’t you value sleep?”

 

“Insomnia. Also, it’d be nice to have a backup on patrols, or not backup, but someone to help me with them. Unless you don’t think you’re capable.”

 

“You’re buying tacos.” Wade concedes.

 

* * *

 

Peter and Deadpool grow closer after they strike up their friend-slash-partnership. They see each other on average three nights a week, and that’s only interrupted if Deadpool has a job he has to go away for. Otherwise, they’re bustling around the city, fighting bad, or badder guys, in Deadpool’s case, and grabbing food afterwards.

 

Being busy with work and patrols eases the ache in Peter’s chest, if only briefly.

 

* * *

 

Wade sees a mark begin to take shape on his hand one night after a patrol with Spiderman, it’s a red heart drawn sloppily across the back of his left hand. He smiles thinly, shucking off the rest of his gear, and falls asleep, blood still seeping out of a gash in his leg. The heart is mostly gone in the morning, but the outline remains.

 

Sometimes, though, he still finds himself hating the thought of someone finding him and loving him.

 

* * *

 

He draws a heart for the hell of it. The patrol with Deadpool turned sour, and he wound up getting pretty beat up.

 

The bruises are blossoming across his ribs from punches and his back from being slammed into walls.

 

So, Peter feels alone and wants his soulmate to see that he’s still there, even if they don’t want to respond.

 

If his soulmate even exists, they’re not showing any signs of wanting to be known by Peter, and it really kills his resolve. He scrubs at the heart, regretting to have drawn it in sharpie, and gives up, the heart being left half-faded. He decides it would be a good idea to get drunk, but then decides against it.

 

He thinks the heart on his skin feels like the one in his chest.

 

* * *

 

Wade drinks his beer and watches the patterns of flowers make their way around his left wrist. The roses blossom in black and blue ink across his skin, and they’re the most pathetic flowers he’s seen yet.

 

“Is that supposed to be a… a block?” Weasel asks him.

 

“It’s a rose. I think. I know it sucks.” He responds, swishing the beer around the bottom of the glass.

 

“Have you ever drawn or written anything on your… anything?”

 

Wade shakes his head, and washes down the rest of his beer. “One more. And If I have, it was when I was young. I don’t want any- anyone finding out who I am.”

 

“You have serious issues. You need to talk to someone.” Weasel refills his glass and gets one of his own, and leans on the counter. “You should get a therapist. They’re good. Expensive, but you have money. They’re probably better support than Al and I.”

 

“No shit, Weas. Who would want to listen to my crap?” Wade rolls his eyes and drinks his beer in one go, and places a few bills on the counter.

 

“Listen, Wade, I’m trying to be serious for once. Go see someone. Talk to that Spider boy or whatever his name is.” Weasel pockets the bills.

 

“Spider _man_.”

 

“Whatever. Just, get out of my bar and talk to someone. You’re killing the vibe in here and I’d like to make some money tonight.”

 

Wade stands up and walks towards the door, and pauses, and shouts, “We’ve all got bills, asshole!”

 

“Get out!” Weasel shouts good-naturedly at him. Wade flips him off and leaves.

 

* * *

 

It turns out, Spiderman is no help. With soulmates, with Wade’s fucked up mind, anything. They’ve been friends for a while now, and he offers decent advice, but because of Wade’s aforementioned fucked up mind, the advice just goes in one ear, out the other.

 

“I don’t know, man. I’m always drawing shit, and my soulmate never does any of that shit.” Spiderman sighs, and swings his legs out, back and forth, over the ledge where they sit.

 

“They must really, _really_ want to associate with you.” Wade jokes, and it earns him a bruising punch in the shoulder. “Hey, baby boy, watch the goods.”

 

“That’s your arm, you idiot. Not your dick.”

 

“My whole body is the goods, asshole.” Spiderman laughs, and it’s a good sound. The night is pleasant, the late night summer breeze washing over them, the sounds of the city below.

 

“Yeah.” Spiderman lets the word hang in the air, and the silence envelops them. “We’ve known each other for a while, haven’t we?”

 

Wade, not even caring, returns, “Three years, two months, eight days, fourteen hours.” He starts twiddling his thumbs.

 

“Why don’t we know each other’s names?” Spiderman inquires.

 

“I thought you had a kink for being called baby boy, honestly.” That earns Wade a softer punch to the shoulder.

 

“Asshole.”

 

“I know.” Wade disconnects his hands and sticks one out for Spiderman to grab. “Wade Winston Wilson.” Spiderman grabs his hand, holding it firm.

 

“Peter Benjamin Parker.”

 

“Nice name. Suits the nice ass.” Peter drops Wade’s hand.

 

“You can’t be serious.”

 

“Amn’t I always?” Wade laughs. “But anyways, I don’t think that anyone is going to start shit for the rest of the night, so why don’t we go grab some food and then head home?”

 

“Sounds good.”

* * *

 

Peter decides gets drunk.

 

It’s a bad decision, he knows this. But he’s got a six-pack of beer and it’s a warm summer night, Sunday is tomorrow, and so he brings up a folding chair, a pack of sharpies, and the beers up to the rooftop of his apartment building.

 

Peter draws in sharpie all over his left arm. Flowers are colored in every color possible, and there are waves and an attempt at the skyline, and it takes Peter an hour to get done.

 

He admires his handiwork in the fading evening light, and for once, resolves to not wash it for a week.

 

Peter wakes up, the next morning, on the rooftop, still exhausted, and looks down at his arm.

 

“Shit,” he mutters to himself, “I guess I’ll just keep it on for now.”

 

* * *

 

The inked arm that Wade has looks surprisingly decent. He looks it over, and finds himself, for once, wearing a tee-shirt to admire it, and invites Weasel over to his apartment for more advice.

 

“So,” Weasel says once he’s arrived, “looks like your soulmate went to town. Not sexually. Artistically. Looks better than last time.”

 

Wade hums, then answers, “Yeah. It’s been on for a day, and either my soulmate is getting this tattooed, or has decided to not wash their arm, because this hasn’t come off.”

 

“Do you want it off?” Weasel asks, and it makes Wade pause.

 

Does he want it off? He looks down at his arm, and his stomach turns, feeling both repulsed and joyous. Wade doesn’t want his soulmate to have to deal with him, but knowing that his soulmate is still trying makes him feel better about himself.

 

“I don’t think so.” Wade concludes.

 

“Then you need to find this soulmate of yours. Wade, you’re twenty-seven. Not saying it’s time, but I’m saying, it’s time you found them. They probably want to find you.”

 

Wade reverts, in that moment, to complete self-pity and failure. “I don’t think so. I’m too much to deal with.”

 

“Wade, honestly, you have your head shoved so far up your ass, it’s a miracle you’re not fucking everything up. I’m saying this as your friend and bartender: fucking write back or get out of dodge. Who knows if they’re going to wait forever. You’ve been through shit, and so have other people. Your soulmate is your soulmate for a reason. They’re not going to reject you. They’re put with you because they accept you regardless of your flaws.”

 

“But what if they don’t?” Wade asks in a small voice.

 

“Then you’re both idiots and you deserve each other.” Weasel says, and stands. “I’m going to go out and get smashed. Wanna come?”

 

“No, thanks.”

 

“Suit yourself.” So Weasel leaves, and Wade locks the door behind him, and stares at his arm.

 

* * *

 

He brings up the soulmates at what may be an inopportune moment.

 

“Why don’t you just write down your address or phone number and tell your soulmate to come hang out?” Peter asks, one day, after they’ve come back from a particularly dicey patrol.

 

Wade got his ass handed to him, and is currently regrowing his right arm, and is in a bit of a bad mood. They picked up Chinese on the way back, because _priorities_. They’ve gone back to Peter’s apartment, which is full of photographs and gadgets for his costume.

 

“Because that’s _too easy_ , and no.” Wade responds, pulling off his glove with his teeth, forgetting that it’s covered in ink. Peter’s in the kitchen and calls to him,

 

“You want a beer or something? Also, you gonna eat the takeout straight out of the carton or you want a plate?”

 

“Got anything stronger? And, carton.” Wade requests.

 

“Nope. But really, why won’t you do it?”

 

 _That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it?_ Wade thinks.

 

“I-” Wade’s mask is still on, and Peter is shuffling back from the kitchen, plate in hand, and two beers in the other. “I don’t think anyone would want to love me.”

 

“That sucks.”

 

Wade is so surprised by the response that he barks out a laugh, then wheezes. “What the fuck?”

 

“I just-” And Peter stops cold, gripping the beers tightly as he looks at Wade, who minus the glove and the missing arm, is still in full costume. And the arm that remains has the same drawings on it that he has on his own.

 

“Peter?” Wade looks concerned.

 

“Your... arm.” This, Peter stutters out.

 

“It’s growing back, I know.” Wade says, oblivious as always. Peter sets down the plate and beers, and tries to collect himself. “Your left arm.”

 

“Huh, yeah. I know, it’s really ugly. My skin kinda sucks a lot.”

 

“The drawings.”

 

“My soulmate.” Peter looks like he’s trembling, which worries Wade. “Are you okay, Petey?”

 

Peter yanks off his left glove, then pulls of the top of his costume, and the right glove, and oh, _oh_ , they have the same drawings on their skin.

 

“You’re my soulmate.” Peter says. “Holy shit.”

 

“Peter…” Wade sounds like he’s going to cry, and Peter kneels between Wade’s legs, where he’s sitting on the couch. Peter reaches out to cradle Wade’s face, and Wade jerks back.

 

“No, Peter. You don’t want this. I ignored you for years. I didn’t want you to be with someone like me because I’m a mess of a person, and-”

 

“Don’t I get a say in this?” Peter asks, feeling small and like his whole world is shattering. “Don’t I get to tell you that I want this? I’ve known you for-”

 

“Three years, four months, two days, eight hours. _Dammit_.”

 

“For that long, and I _know you_. Wade, I don’t care if you look like a train-wreck-”

 

“I do.”

 

“I don’t care that I’ve never seen your face, that we’ve never seen each other’s faces. We’re… we’re soulmates,” Now Peter’s done for, “and I don’t love you less because of your flaws, I love you because they make you who you are. I- I love you.” As Peter says this, it sounds like a realization to him, and Wade leans forward, into Peter’s space.

 

“You’re willing to have me?” Wade asks, and grabs at the base of Peter’s mask, and thumbs at the edge of the mask.

 

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” Peter responds, and lifts his hand again to Wade’s mask, who nods in assent.

 

“Aside from the blatant dick joke, which I do appreciate greatly, baby boy, can I take your mask off first? I wanna see what I’m working with here.”

 

“That’s also a dick joke, but yeah, go for it.” So Wade lifts the Spiderman mask off of Peter’s face and is thoroughly impressed by what he sees.

 

“You’re gorgeous. Ten out of ten. Would do.” Wade blurts, and Peter, _wow_ , with those brown eyes and chestnut colored hair and dimples just, _damn_ , grins like he’s never been happier in his entire life. Which is probably true. “I should mention, though, before anyone gets upset, that I love you too.”

 

“Anyone?”

 

“You know what I mean. Before I turn eight-hundred and lose my courage, can you take my mask off?” Peter responds by feeling around the back of Wade’s head and separating the fasteners on the back of the mask and sliding it gently off Wade’s face.

 

“Oh, _Wade_.” Peter’s voice sounds full of pity, and Wade winces.

 

“I don’t want your pity, Peter.” Wade says bitterly.

 

“Wade, what were you so worried about?”

 

Wade is taken aback by this. “Are you okay, Peter? You didn’t get hit too hard on the head during patrol tonight? You see this face, right? The rest of my body is like this.”

 

“You thought I’d hate you because of this? All those self-deprecating jokes, all that hiding, Wade, it isn’t bad. I don’t look at your skin and only see the skin.”

 

“You probably see the problems behind it, too. Let’s face it, baby boy, I’m pretty unstable.”

 

“It’s been over three years,” Peter responds, settling back on the heels of his feet, peering up at Wade, “you think I don’t know that?”

 

Wade crosses his arm and a half. “I guess.”

 

“Are you running out of reasons to tell me ‘No’? Because we’ve already told each other that we’re in love, so I really think we should kiss and run off into the sunset together. Or sunrise. I’m not sure what time it is anymore.”

 

“We’ll web off into the sunrise. It’s almost four.” Wade sounds ecstatic, and all Peter can do is press his lips to Wade’s in response. It’s a brief kiss, only because Peter is on the floor and would rather be on the couch with Wade, so he breaks off their kiss and maneuvers himself on top of Wade as he rejoins their lips.

 

Peter settles on Wade’s chest, and winds his arms around the back of his head, lightly brushing the scarred skin with his arms. Wade kisses him deeply, and runs his hands down Peter’s back until they reach his ass and squeezes it with both hands, his right arm fully regrown.

 

“I called it!” Wade crows, “You have a great ass.” He smiles up at Peter, who laughs and buries his head in Wade’s neck.

 

“We’re getting tattoos.” Peter declares. “I’m commemorating this forever.”

 

“While we’re at it, you want to get a marriage license? You’re pretty much stuck with me, so I figured...”

 

“Yes.” Peter confirms. “A thousand times yes.”

 

* * *

 

They get roses tattooed around each wrist.

**Author's Note:**

> Soulmate AU because I'm a sucker for a good story. Wade might be out of character but that's okay. 
> 
> [tumblr](http://hurricanekid.tumblr.com/)


End file.
